riding on a horse

This is love,
what else can we say,
dear one?
throwing oneself
on the arms of the beloved.
riding on a horse
that is not trained,
That is not reigned.
That is not saddled
Feeling the wild prancing,
jumping up and down,
and the piercing of knee jerks.
Feeling the source of innocence through
the first word ever uttered,
like the first snow flecks
falling on warm lips
and blushing and then melting away
when the entire world stands on one leg and disappears
in the quiver of touching passionate hands.
Who can explain the depth
of this beauty other than
vast silence!